Gene Kranz had always wanted to be a pilot, but his flying career almost crashed on take-off. Accepted into the U.S. Naval Academy, he flunked the physical due to diabetes.

“I had been working at the A&P warehouse and living on chocolate milk and brownies,” Kranz, 75, said. “We didn’t have money to go to college, so I thought my entire world had ended.”

When his high school teacher, Sister Mary Mark, heard the news, she sat him down for a talk. “She proceeded to give me a lesson in growing up, a lesson in the importance of absolute persistence, in never giving up,” he said.

In a life later crammed with critical, live-and-death decisions, Kranz said of this first crossroads, “I believe it was her getting me back on the right path to find another way to achieve my objective that was probably the most important event in my life.”

A Pilot at Last

His mother, a widow running a rooming house in Toledo, Ohio, scrapped together enough money to send her son to Parks Air College in East St. Louis. Although a big step down from Annapolis, Kranz measured up. He studied aeronautical engineering, took part in a bare-bones flight program, and graduated with a commission as a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force Reserve.

In 1954 he took a job at McDonnell Aircraft in St. Louis reading data records of flight tests. In time Kranz became skilled at putting together an accurate story from flight data, a talent that would prove invaluable as a flight controller at NASA.

While at McDonnell Kranz found a mentor in his boss, Harry Carroll. “He was probably the most influential person in my life,” Kranz said. “He was a Renaissance man who he did everything. An experienced engineer, great aviator, wrote poetry, acted in dinner theater, led grand portage canoe trips across the Canadian border. But he taught me to have a passion, an absolute commitment, to everything I’d attempt in life.”

In 1955 Kranz reported for pre-flight training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. That same year he married Marta Cadena, a young woman from Texas, who he had been dating. Over the next couple of years Kranz and his young family would hopscotch from one Air Force assignment to another. Eventually, he would fly an F-86 Sabre on patrol operations along the Korean DMZ.

A Future in Space

On October 4, 1957 the Soviet Union took the world by surprise with the launch of Sputnik, the world’s first man-made satellite, and threw into question America’s presumed technological superiority in space.

Fresh from Korea, Kranz landed a job with McDonnell as a test pilot. But with the space race heating up between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, Kranz responded to an ad in Aviation Week from the NASA Space Task Group looking for qualified engineers to work in its Project Mercury Space Program in Langley, Virginia and Cape Canaveral, Florida.

Despite misgivings about leaving his career as a test pilot, Kranz was convinced his future lay in space. He applied for the position and was accepted.

In 1959 the nascent U.S. space program was in pathetic shape. “The rockets did have an unfortunate tendency at launch to keel over on their side, a scene that reappeared frequently in the newsreels,” Kranz said “Of the nineteen unmanned U.S. rockets launched in 1959, nine failed their missions.” [1] Expert opinion put the U.S. a year behind the Russians and fading quickly. The pressure on NASA was enormous.

Two weeks into his new job at Langley Research Center, Kranz was approached by flight director Christopher Kraft – whose leadership at NASA would serve as an inspiring model for all future flight directors — and given the task of writing the operating procedures for Mercury flight controllers for the upcoming Mercury-Redstone 1 (MR-1) launch at Cape Canaveral.

Kranz was stunned. What did he know about countdown protocols and mission rules? From his test pilot experience he was familiar with systems, procedures, and checklists. But there’s a huge difference, Kranz realized, between developing operations and procedures for aircraft and spacecraft.

“During a mission countdown, or even a flight test, so many things would be happening so fast that you did not have time for second thoughts or arguments,” Kranz said. “You wanted the debate behind you.” [2]

With the invaluable help of colleague Paul Johnson, Kranz plunged into the groundbreaking work and within a week had written “the book” – the initial procedures for the countdown and the rules for the first Mercury-Redstone (MR-1) mission.

Four-Inch Flight

MR-1 was memorable but for all the wrong reasons. “The Redstone had lifted a few inches off the launch pad and then the engine shut down. By some miracle, the rocket had landed back on the launcher cradle,” Kranz said. [3]

There was, however, a launch of sorts. Unceremoniously, the escape tower sitting atop the Mercury capsule was severed and catapulted 4,000 feet above the launch pad. The smoldering heap landed 1,200 feet away.  Fortunately, the next Redstone launched a month later was a success.

Once a mystery, flight rules now put Kranz at the heart of every mission policy and flight decision. “This task opened the door for me to every technical aspect of Mercury operations,” he said. “I was the scribe sitting in on Kraft’s meetings with crews, controllers, and management.” [4]

Amazingly, this period in NASA’s infancy pre-dated computers. “There were no computers,” Kranz said. “We had no high-speed communications. We used teletype. Give you some idea — high-speed communication was two kilobytes per second. Low-speed was one [kilobyte per second], and we got it in from tracking stations at the Cape, from the California tracking station, the Texas tracking station, and if conditions were favorable we’d get it from Bermuda.”

With its ambitious timeline, the Mercury program strained to keep pace with events. In April 1961 Soviet cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin became the first human in space and the first to orbit the Earth – another blow to the U.S. space program. A month later, Alan Shepard became the first American astronaut to fly into space, but it was only a 15-minute, sub-orbital flight. Almost a year later in February 1962 John Glenn became the first American astronaut to orbit the Earth. It looked as though the U.S. would never catch the Soviets.

By 1965 Kranz had been promoted to flight director. His “coming out” mission would be Gemini 4 in June 1965. Astronaut Ed White became the first American to “walk” in space. But, once again, the Soviets had trumped the Americans with conducting the first space walk in March 1965.

Out of the Ashes of Tragedy

Despite the obvious risks of space exploration, no one was prepared for the tragedy that befell Apollo 1. Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee died in a mysterious fire that flashed through their oxygen-pressurized cabin on January 27, 1967. The astronauts died on the launch pad during a simulated countdown.

“A rational feeling or not, I felt that I had personally let down the crew of Apollo 1,” Kranz said. “But I also knew that I had to put aside these feelings and take the lead in rallying the controllers to get us moving forward again.” [5]

Kranz had probably read more by and about General George S. Patton than anyone else in his life. “There is in Patton the philosophy of ‘seize the moment, seize the opportunity’, which is very important,” he said. Now speaking to 250 controllers in the aftermath of Apollo 1, Kranz believed such a moment had arrived.

He told the somber, shaken audience, “From this day forward, Flight Control will be known by two words: ‘Tough and competent.’ Tough means we are forever accountable for what we do or what we fail to do. We will never again compromise our responsibilities…Competent means we will never take anything for granted. We will never be found short in our knowledge and in our skills. Mission Control will be perfect.” [6]

Asked more than 40 years later if Grissom, White and Chafee died in vain, Kranz said firmly, “No. There is no question that the success. As we found out after the fire, we really had several significant deficiencies in the Command and Service Module, the space systems that we were flying, and I think we would have tried to repair those things in line instead of calling a halt and fixing them all at once. I believe they paid the price for Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins [landing on the Moon]. And that’s part of their legacy.”

The Soviet program knew tragedy too. In April 1967 a new Soviet spacecraft, the Soyuz, crashed when its parachutes became tangled. The sole cosmonaut was killed.

As the successes of the Apollo program pushed the U.S. ahead of the Soviets, Kranz’s career and family life blossomed. Now a father of six, Kranz, at 36, reached one of the high points of his career. He was selected to be the flight director for the Lunar Module’s descent to the surface of the Moon during the Apollo 11 mission.

The Eagle Has Landed

About an hour before Armstrong’s and Aldrin’s historic Moon landing, Kranz spoke to hundreds of his controllers over a private communications loop. He said: “Today is our day, and the hopes and the dreams of the entire world are with us. This is our time and our place, and we will remember this day and what we will do here always. In the next hour we will do something that has never been done before. We will land an American on the Moon. The risks are high…that is the nature of the business. We worked long hours and had some tough times but we have mastered our work. Now we are going to make this work pay off. You are a hell of a good team. One that I feel privileged to lead. Whatever happens, I will stand behind every call that you will make. Good luck and God bless us today.” [7]

After a tense but flawlessly executed landing, astronaut Neil Armstrong informed Mission Control, “Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.”  It was July 20, 1969. Capsule Communicator (CapCom) Charles Duke captured the mood in Mission Control when he said, “Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We’re breathing again. Thanks a lot.”

Kranz was elated but busy. “I didn’t spend much time enjoying the moment because we were tied to the console for the next two hours with very time-critical activities,” he said. “While everyone else was cheering and celebrating and everything else, I almost felt that I and the team were cheated of that absolute joy the instant we landed.”

Houston, We Have a Problem

Some will argue that the Moon landing, however monumental, was not the pinnacle of Kranz’s career. They will point to his performance along with the entire Mission Operations Team in rescuing Apollo 13 from certain destruction.

Two days into the mission an oxygen tank exploded in the Command Service Module (CSM), knocking out vital fuel cells. With round-the-clock assistance from Mission Control, veteran astronaut Jim Lovell and civilian astronauts Fred Haisse, Jr. and John Swigert piloted the crippled spacecraft, first around the Moon and then back to Earth, some 250,000 miles away. Four days after the errant explosion, Apollo 13 splashed into the South Pacific Ocean.

“Our crew was home. We – crew, contractors, controllers – had done the impossible. The human factor had carried the day…When our glittering technology failed us, our resourcefulness and courage, as well as every bit of the experience gained since the abortive four-inch Mercury launch, had carried the day,” Kranz said. [8]

Over the years Kranz has been frequently asked if he really believed they would get the crew home. “I had no doubt,” he said. “You have to believe in your mission; you have to believe you’re going to complete your mission. I liken myself to a heart surgeon looking into the patient’s eyes, and the patient wants to see that when I open up his chest I have 100 percent confidence I’m going to be able to close it up, and this patient is going to come through. Also, what about this: what would the crewmen be thinking? You have to have this attitude and you have to communicate it to the people in your team.”

For their magnificent efforts President Nixon awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest civilian honor, to Apollo 13’s Mission Control Team. In 1974 Kranz became deputy of NASA Mission Operations and director in 1983. He retired in March 1994.

Bitter-Sweet Reunion

During the summer of 2009 Kranz attended numerous commemorations marking the 40^th anniversary of the Moon landing. “We had a marvelous celebration but it was tinged with sadness,” he said. “A bitter-sweet reunion. We don’t see a direction in the space program.”

Kranz said he’s disappointed that President Obama did not continue Michael Griffin’s tenure as NASA Administrator. “I think Mike was the first true leader we’ve had in the Agency [NASA] in over a decade,” he said. “If we’re going to go anywhere in space, it’s going to start with leadership, and Mike was the guy to lead. I have nothing against Charlie Bolden, Jr., the new guy. He’s a good guy, but the failure to continue with Mike Griffin was an indication the Obama Administration does not really see space as an important element in our nation’s future. I think this is a signal. The next generation is really going to be wondering what we stand for. Are we no longer explorers? First, I think we should be building the next generation space systems we need, both to support the international space station and get onto the moon. Once we’ve learned to live for extensive periods of time outside near-Earth orbit, then it’s time to go to Mars. First, the Moon, then Mars.”

Recalling his legacy, Kranz said, “I’d like to be remembered as the individual who established Mission Control as a leadership laboratory where we taught our young controllers to reach for excellence, individually and as a team members. I’d like to be remembered as the individual who built the teams that accomplished the mission given to us by President Kennedy of reaching the Moon. I was a parent, father, husband and companion to my wife and children, and my wife and I provided them with the foundation for a life of service to the people in our community. Finally, I’d like to be remembered as a good listener, thoughtful in my actions, and when the time came I would take any action necessary for crew safety and mission success.”

Copyright © 2009 by Vince Reardon

Endnotes

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[1] Failure Is Not an Option: Mission Control from Mercury to Apollo 13 and Beyond, Kranz, Gene. (2000). New York: Berkley Books, p. 115.      

[2] Ibid., p. 21

[3] Ibid., p. 30

[4] Ibid., p. 43

[5] Ibid., p. 203

[6] Ibid., p. 204

[7] Ibid. p. 283-4

[8] Ibid., p. 337